Tea
by HouseOfFinches
Summary: Set after AOU but before CA:CW. Wanda and Vision get to know one another. Will progress to more mature themes as it continues.
1. Chapter 1

Wanda awoke with a start. She sat up, putting a hand to her chest, feeling the rise and fall of her erratic breath. Her pulse raced and the sheen along her hairline began to cool.

She took a steadying breath and glanced at the clock; a red 3:23AM glowed steadily. She'd managed to sleep longer than normal, she considered with mild annoyance. Wanda longed for the days of dreamless sleep, exhausted next to Pietro. But those days, just like her brother, were gone, a thing of the past.

With a sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of her untidy bed-the sheets tangled and the blanket crumpled on the floor. Wanda made her way to the small on-suite. As far as she knew, each Avenger's room had its own bathroom in this new compound.

She flicked on the light and rinsed her dewy face. The cool water was sobering, closing the space between her dreamscape and reality. The emotions spurred on by her dreams didn't dissipate quite as easily, as the dull ache in her heart reminded her. She glanced at the mirror, meeting her tired eyes in the reflection. She noted the ruddiness of her cheeks and, with a frown, the knots forming in her hair. Hastily she scooped up her tangled waves and messily tied them in a pile on top of her head. She would deal with unknotting them in the morning after a good conditioning.

Resolved that she wouldn't be sleeping again any time soon, she decided that a cup of tea might ease her nerves. Back in Sokovia, the days revolved around tea-breakfast, snack, and supper. It was a simple luxury she and Pietro rarely indulged in, as tea is hard to come by when one is a starving orphan. Now, however, tea was becoming part of her daily routine. The stillness of sitting by the large windows while letting the hot fragrant steam rise to her face was her meditation, her time to reflect.

Wanda threw on a loose long sleeved shirt over her camisole and shorts and padded her way to the kitchen. The cool tiles beneath her feet felt invigorating after her heated nightmare. Nights like this were often still and dark and she took refuge in their solace.

Wanda switched on the lights in the kitchen, the glare from the stainless steel counters making her momentarily squint. She knew this kitchen well enough, its design masculine, metal and clean. She opened the cupboard and pulled out her box of lavender chamomile tea. She observed the box, its light purple top and ornate writing. Were she in Sokovia, such a tea and its fancy box would be looked down upon. Her home country was big on simplicity, having long ago perfected a hot cup of black tea. But, as she reminded herself not for the last time, things were different now.

She reached for the steel tea pot and turned on the faucet. She thought she sensed something in the air. Abruptly halting, her hair stood on end, allowing her skin to better feel the electric fluctuations around her. Fight or flight panic pooled in her stomach. She heard a noise, something like a breeze but with a subtle hum. Wanda dropped the kettle in the sink, her hands radiating red, spinning to see behind her. Her mind automatically sent out its tendrils, searching the space for a presence.

Just as she thought she'd picked up a mental signature, Wanda saw Vision approaching her from an adjacent hallway. He wasn't walking; instead, he opted to use his power to glide, floating above the tiled floors noiselessly. Wanda was irritated with him for this. Why float around in the middle of the night like some strange red specter?

Wanda let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. She willed her body to relax, calming the flare of her hands. As Vision entered the light from the kitchen, Wanda noted that his crimson face held an uncharacteristic expression of confusion.

She too wore an expression of confusion, though her eyes carried both suspicion and a touch of anger.

Vision met her gaze. "Forgive me, Miss Maximoff," he said, his voice apologetic but curious. "I didn't know it was you in the kitchen." The way he said it irritated Wanda further, as if she were an outsider.

Wanda returned to the sink, the water still flowing. "You know," she started, "it's rude to just sneak up on people like that." She filled the pot, a faint grin on her face as she smiled at her own hypocrisy-how many times had she done exactly that?

She turned off the water, set the pot on the burner, wishing the old adage about a watched pot wasn't true. She didn't mind Vision but she was not used to such company in the middle of the night. She flushed when she remembered her attire, the small shorts and messy hair.

Vision, after a pause, replied. "I simply didn't wish to startle whoever was in the kitchen; I was waiting for an opportune time to enter." He approached the stone island, sitting in the chair across from her at the sink. When Wanda didn't respond, Vision paused again, seeming to think over his next question. "I'm still learning," he said, a bit wistfully, "how to appear to be normal, to act human. Do you find it difficult to stay out of the others' minds?" He must have sensed her earlier search for his mind. This made her flush again, though she couldn't name the reason.

Wanda eyed the kettle, urging it to whistle. She missed the easy conversation with Pietro, the companionable silence that came with two decades' worth of proximity.

"No, I don't find it difficult," she lied. Well, it wasn't entirely a lie, she corrected in her head. When she first joined the Avengers, her grief made it difficult to tune out the live-wire cacophony of their minds. She resorted to removing herself from them as much as she could. Slowly, as she compartmentalized her anguish, she was able to tune out their thoughts, one by one. She never had this struggle with Vision. If anything, when everyone else's mind seemed to be at a volume of 10, his was a 1. The few times she'd tentatively listened for him it had taken a large effort on her part. She'd chalked it up to him being an android, not fully human. Now she considered him again, sitting there. Maybe there was more to it than that.

Wanda eyed him curiously. He was no longer dressed in his usual blue suit but instead was wearing a simple sweater and jeans. Wanda thought the change must be him trying to appear normal, human. Not exactly an outfit for sleeping, though. This made her wonder. "Do you not sleep?"

Vision returned her gaze with his neutral expression, a practiced passive face that Wanda wasn't sure how to interpret.

"Yes, I do sleep, though it would seem not as much as the average human. Yet, I could almost say the same of you, Miss Maximoff. Do you not require the recommended 8 hours each night?" he asked, innocently.

Wanda paused, and before she could respond the kettle whined. She promptly turned to remove it from the heat. She readied her cup and, knowing that Vision rarely ate, asked out of politeness, "Would you like some tea?"

Vision nodded and Wanda readied a second cup. She carried both steaming mugs to the granite island, then after retrieving spoons and sugar, sat next to Vision.

Wanda spooned a small dip of sugar into her tea, absently stirring the already sweet drink. The aromatic steam calmed her, releasing the tension in her shoulders, her frustration with Vision's approach fading.

Vision looked at her, politely expectant. Ah, yes, she hadn't answered his question. "Do you dream, Vision?" she asked, knowing it's against the rules to answer a question with a question. Suddenly she became annoyed with herself: she was posing questions to him that she herself didn't like, questions that reminded the recipient how different they are, alien, removed.

"Yes, I do dream. Though," he paused, brows furrowed, "I fail to see how my dreams prevent you from sleeping."

Wanda stirred her cup again, then, leaving in the spoon, took a hesitant sip, not wanting to scald her tongue. Vision stole a cue from her, spooning sugar into his tea and stirring. It dawned on Wanda that he probably never had tea before. The idea of him sharing a first experience with her, though small, eased something within her.

With a resolute sigh, she opted for honesty. "When I sleep, I dream. The dreams change but it's always the same in the end: I'm falling, with brick and rubble and glass, I'm falling. And I see Pietro's face... Sometimes above me, looking down, sometimes below me..." she trailed off.

Wanda was fixed on the memory of Pietro's face. She felt the sting of tears threaten to leave her eyes. As she fought not to embarrass herself, she noticed a shift in Vision's expression. He leaned forward, placing his hand over hers on the cold stone island, a gesture intended to be reassuring.

Vision's long fingers on top of hers felt warm, electric... Jarring after having not been touched in months. She sharply inhaled, brought back from her reverie. Vision's face held nothing but sincere compassion, lacking the usual trace of pity she'd noted on others.

Vision removed his fingers and returned his attention to stirring his tea. Wanda observed Vision's face again under the pale kitchen lighting. It had been a long time since she had seen it up close; though she saw him daily, he was usually at a distance. His skin was smooth, a pleasant shade of red, though lined with barely visible intricacies. His nose was classical, masculine, complementing the line of his jaw and the fullness of his lips. She met his inquisitive eyes after lingering too long at those lips. His eyes remained a cerulean blue: deep, intense, yet kind, as she'd remembered. She flushed with embarrassment; her insomnia had made her strange and awkward. To end the tense silence, she asked, "What do you dream of?"

Vision looked away and smiled. She noted that it did not touch his eyes, appearing instead to be a nervous smile, one born of manners. Internally she cringed at herself again. Pietro was the one who was good at conversing, his personality inviting and easy. She had always been quiet, reserved, more inclined to take in the scenery than talk about it. Perhaps reading minds had made her this way-there isn't much mystery left when one sees a person's thoughts played out like a film.

"Like most newborns, I dream of my experiences, day to day routine. Which lends itself to many dreams about training." There he paused and gave a slight chuckle. She smiled with him, knowing just how routine training had become. "Sometimes," he continued, "I dream about the stars, the planets, the vastness of the universe." He appeared distant, recalling those dreams, as if questioning the universe again.

Wanda thought of the stars and wondered if she could see them through the large window off the kitchen. To her surprise, she saw the sun on the horizon, staining the sky orange and plum. She swallowed down her now chilled tea and stood. She offered to take Vision's cup, mostly empty, but he insisted on cleaning the dishes.

"The sun is up, it must be nearly 5 in the morning," she groaned, tired. She knew the team would be up in an hour, their noisy banter filling the halls. Vision looked at her from the sink, face neutral. Wanda continued, "Speaking of training, I should get ready. Thank you for keeping me company." She half smiled, hoping next time he wouldn't scare her in the middle of the night.

"I enjoyed our conversation," Vision replied simply. "See you again at training." Wanda thought she caught him smirking as she trailed back to her room.


	2. Chapter 2: Stars

Nights in the Avenger's compound were quiet. If Vision had been less comfortable with his solitude, he may have even said they were lonely. But, as it were, he liked the stillness. It was his time with his thoughts, uninterrupted by the noise of his teammates, the tests of combat, the trials of humanity.

Vision stood under the warm rain of water, the specialized shower head drizzling like a soft spring shower. He found that he was very particular about the temperature, seeking out the perfect balance of warm but not too hot. He liked the feel of the droplets hitting his skin, the way they ran down in small streams along his chest, meeting in rivers at his pelvis.

He lingered there, beneath the stream, long after he felt clean. Sometimes he would place his palms against the smooth tiles, enjoying the contrast between the warm water and the chill of the stones. Tonight, however, he examined his hands: the slight pruning of his fingers, the way the droplets warped the proportions of his vermillion skin.

He knew his teammates did not consider him human, that they classified him as _other_ , _different_. He couldn't blame them, even he didn't know how to categorize himself. Vision wondered at himself, with water-lodged fingers, the _ping-ping-ping_ of spray ricocheting from his vibranium filigree. Not quite machine, not quite man. Perhaps _different_ was fitting.

Not wishing to continue that train of thought, Vision turned off the faucet and reached for his towel. The cotton fibers were fluffy against his skin, absorbing the water with ease. Vision was especially fond of how light his skin felt after the shower's hot steam, open and receptive to the air of his room.

Absently hovering his way to the window (the cool tiles against his feet decidedly uncomfortable), Vision paused a moment, admiring the stars. Like all of humanity before him, he looked up to the expanse of sky, the lights slowly sparkling, in awe of his place in the universe. Vision felt small in comparison, the vastness overwhelming, intoxicating. And in that feeling, he decided, he was human: alone, insignificant, but an infant among the great sweep of time.

Vision had a routine. Each night, when his teammates were closed within their quarters, he would quietly make his way to the lower living area. Often he read the books from the small collection the compound had to offer, but from time to time he watched the television. He was engrossed with the dynamics between characters, the complexities of their relationships. When a program would end, Vision would reflect on what he'd seen. He'd wondered what it must be like to have a family, close friends, even a romantic interest. But those, he resolved, were not made for him, as he was _other_ , _different_. Not human enough, not machine enough, he concluded, unable to identify the emotion coloring the thought.

On this particular night, Vision had opted to read an old hardcover book, one that had gone seemingly untouched. With the lights low and his legs rested comfortably along the length of the couch, Vision lost himself in the world of the story's fictional characters. That is, until he heard a faint thud, the sound of a closing cupboard in the kitchen above him. Vision glanced at the clock on the wall. 3:42. _Odd_.

Curiosity drove Vision to rise and phase through the floor, returning to his solid state in a hallway just outside the kitchen. He heard the faucet start, noting that whoever was utilizing the kitchen at this hour would have their back turned to him. He shifted, hovering uncomfortably, deciding to wait until the faucet stopped to enter as to not startle the kitchen's occupant.

Yet the water ran. And, standing there, he felt something press against his mind, a feeling of-nervousness? fear?-filtering through. Perturbed, Vision decided to cross the threshold into the kitchen's light to find the source of this odd sensation.

As quickly as it had come, the sensation in his mind faded. There, as he predicted, was someone by the sink. However, he couldn't have predicted it would be Miss Maximoff, defensive, hands glowing a warning red.

Vision saw Wanda take in a sharp breath, and upon her recognition of him, her features faded from alarm to something resembling irritation. The electric spark of her fingers ebbed, and she turned to resume her task at the sink, leaving her back to him.

"Forgive me, Miss Maximoff," Vision said, feeling unsettled that he had upset her to such an extent. He thought he sensed tension in the air, recalling the irritation that had crossed her face.

Vision noted the difference in her appearance: her hair lifted from her neck, exposing the soft slope of her creamy skin. Her legs were bare, too, except for the silky black material that hung loosely at her thighs.

Before Vision could determine why this change of her attire stood out to him, Wanda tersely said, "You know, it's rude to just sneak up on people like that." Was that her smile he detected on the window's reflection? Vision felt that he was unable to keep up with her mercurial moods.

Wanda set about boiling water for tea (ah, that's what she'd been doing in the kitchen at this hour), leaving her back to him, quiet.

Vision spoke an explanation of his stealthy approach, "I simply didn't wish to startle whoever was in the kitchen; I was waiting for an opportune time to enter." A wish that had failed.

He settled in a tall black stool at the granite island center of the kitchen. The light bounced off the specks of white crystal in the gray stone, and Vision was momentarily distracted by how much this resembled the nighttime lights of New York City. He thought of the day of his birth, the apprehension he had seen etched on Wanda's face. "I looked into your mind...," she had said, "and saw annihilation." Vision focused back to the feeling in his mind moments ago, the fear that sent a spike of heat down his spine. He wasn't the only one not entirely human, _different_ , changed by the stone embedded in his skin.

"I'm still learning how to appear to be normal, to act human." Would he ever learn? Was he capable? How had she managed? "Do you find it difficult to stay out of the others' minds?"

Wanda appeared to reflect on his question a moment before answering. "No, I don't find it difficult," her slight accent accentuating the sound of her ds. _Of course_ , he thought, feeling the strange emotion he'd felt earlier, the limbo between man and machine.

Vision felt Wanda's gaze upon him and noticed she was eyeing his chest. Perhaps it was his sweater? His face warmed, feeling self conscious. Was the clothing he'd chosen inappropriate? Had he missed another human subtlety?

Before he could account for her appraisal, she asked, "Do you not sleep?"  
Of course he slept, as all living organisms do. He was made of the same carbon as she. Well, mostly, besides the vibranium sheaths scattered about his body. "Yes, I do sleep, though it would seem not as much as the average human. Yet, I could almost say the same of you, Miss Maximoff. Do you not require the recommended 8 hours each night?" He recalled that she was awake at an odd hour for a human. He noticed then that she was bare of the makeup that normally darkened her lashes, and he thought he saw a trace of purple beneath her eyes. She was tired. Why didn't she sleep?

Wanda seemed to hesitate, regarding Vision with a wary expression. Then, as she moved her mouth to form her reply, the kettle whistled, reminding them both if its presence.

Wanda attended her cup. From her reflection against the glass pane Vision could see a crease form between her brows, as if she were weighing a question. Looking over her shoulder she asked, "Would you like some tea?"

With a nod, Vision accepted. He hadn't had tea before, though he'd read of it often. It didn't appear to the staple beverage amongst Americans, evidenced by the number of teammates that opted for coffee each morning.

Wanda balanced both cups to the island, sliding his in front of him before padding away to return with a dish of sugar and small spoons. Vision wasn't aware that tea required such extensively cutlery.

Vision watched as Wanda delicately dipped her small spoon into the sugar, gently shaking off the excess before plunging the spoon into her cup. Her fingers were long and thin, stirring absently with a grace that came from years of practice. Vision retuned his eyes to her face, wondering if she'd forgotten his question. Was she ignoring it intentionally? He wondered if it would be rude to ask again. As if reading his mind, she spoke. "Do you dream, Vision?" Again, those lilting ds.

Vision thought back to his last dream nearly a week ago. Dreams confused him: they were not real, yet they existed, a whole other reality within the mind.

"Yes, I do dream. Though," he paused, unable to see the relevance, "I fail to see how my dreams prevent you from sleeping."

Wanda resumed stirring her tea. The steam no longer rising from the cup, she raised it to her face and took a light sip. Vision assumed the tea must be "ready" now, and followed Wanda's lead, adding sugar and stiring, though feeling unsure of the process.

Wanda sighed and Vision's eyes rose to meet her face. "When I sleep, I dream," she said, tone somber. "The dreams change but it's always the same in the end: I'm falling, with brick and rubble and glass, I'm falling. And I see Pietro's face..." A sadness touched her eyes. "Sometimes above me, looking down, sometimes below me..." She offered no more.

Her eyes glossed over, seeing something that was but was not, locked on to that alternate reality. Vision felt uncomfortable, the pain in Wanda's face making his stomach uneasy. He had seen his teammates embrace one another, the physicality seeming to ease the aches they experienced. Perhaps, Vision thought, it might be beneficial in this scenario, too.

Experimentally, Vision reached forward, carefully cupping his fingers around hers. She felt hot, he noted with surprise, definitely hotter than the 98.6 Fahrenheit of the average human. He liked the smoothness of her fingers beneathe his, the texture of her delicate rings against his skin.

Wanda made a small gasp. At her deep breath, Vision removed his fingers, unsure if he'd committed a social faux pas. Yet he thought he saw her features soften, relax. In an attempt to be casual, Vision tasted his tea. Very sweet, he noted, wondering if all tea was meant to taste so sugary. He noticed the hint of lavender, enjoyed the earthy chamomile. He decided he liked this tea. And he liked his unusual company-the company that, at present, was staring intently at his mouth.

Her gaze made him feel vulnerable, something akin to raw. It stirred a feeling in his stomach he couldn't name, a feeling tinged with yearning, desire. Vision searched Wanda's face for a hint of what she was thinking, why her eyes lingered at his mouth.

Blinking, she looked up at his eyes. The kitchen lights caught the rims of her irises, he noticed, softening the gray there to blue. Wanda's eyes had depth, clarity-striking against the alabaster of her skin. The skin that, as he observed, had blossomed into shades of pink.

"What do you dream of?" Wanda asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Again, she was mercurial, labile. Vision was fairly certain he didn't struggle conversing with his other teammates this much. He made a mental note to assess the source of his gaucheness later.

Vision again thought back to a week ago, the sleep that claimed him, that doorway to the dream dimension. "Like most newborns," he explained, "I dream of my experiences, day to day routine. Which lends itself to many dreams about training." Vision recognized the importance of their training but the daily sessions had become tedious, dull. "Sometimes," he continued, "I dream about the stars, the planets, the vastness of the universe." He recognized that feeling again, that human wonderment at the sheer improbability of it all.

Wanda's gaze shifted to the window, seemingly surprised at what she found there. Finishing her tea, she stood from her chair. Vision watched her stretch, a peek of midriff showing as she raised her arms, seemingly stiff from sitting. She reached for his cup but he stopped her. She had been a gracious host, the least he could do was tidy the dishes. Vision retrieved the mugs and spoons and made for the sink. Over the running water he heard Wanda comment, "The sun is up, it must be nearly 5 in the morning." Indeed. It was 4:57. Vision was unsure of why this should be concerning to her. Perhaps she required more sleep.

"Speaking of training," she referenced, "I should get ready. Thank you for keeping me company." Wanda smiled easily. Vision thought that she appeared lighter, less tense. Perhaps it was his company, perhaps it was the tea. He couldn't be sure, though he felt a hope that it was the former.

"I enjoyed our conversation," Vision replied, making a mental checklist of the words he'd have to later analyze. He wasn't sure why images of the curve of her neck, the flesh of her stomach continued to flash unbidden in his mind. He added that to the list as well. Maybe he could solve some of the puzzle before seeing her next. It was rare that he left a conversation having more questions than when he'd entered.

"See you again at training," he said in goodbye, smiling at the thought of talking to her again so soon.


End file.
